


Black on White on Fire

by RunningFox



Category: Aquarius (US TV)
Genre: Period-Typical Racism, Police Brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningFox/pseuds/RunningFox
Summary: In the summer of 1947, a rookie Sam Hodiak begins his first day on the beat in a black neighborhood in Los Angeles.  The events will shape him as an officer for the rest of his life.





	Black on White on Fire

  **Summer, 1947.**

 

 

> His clothes are neatly pressed. Sharp and clean. Each button is even and every patch is perfect. As he slips his hat onto his head, he feels good. He's let his hair grow out since returning from the war but with his new blues, he's wondering if he should go back to the buzz. He wonders if it will make him feel more powerful then he already feels.
> 
> He brushes his shoulder, straightens his collar once more and turns from the mirror. He closes his lock and reads this name on the makeshift label: **S. HODIAK**.
> 
> His fingers touch it briefly. It feels right. He's found a place he belongs. After the Pacific, he didn't think he'd ever find a place again—it turns out, despite what people told him before he was shipped out, you never really can go home again. A foxhole was the only home he'd thought he'd ever know. Maybe, he thinks, he was wrong.
> 
> "Hodiak! Where's Hodiak!?"
> 
> He's out of the locker room and into the bullpen in a blink. There's movement around him but it's not frantic. The cops here, they take their time even in a big city like L.A. They're in no rush even when the phone calls come in. A secretary moves past him and smiles—she's not a cop, she just brings the coffee. She's hoping he's single, he knows, and she's hoping she'll find a husband among the men in blue. Opal has wanted to marry him for a long time, but he's not sure he can. She wanted to marry him before he left for Japan but he'd convinced her against it: he might not be back. She shouldn't be a widow so young, no woman should and too many were already.
> 
> The man calling him is an older cop, standing by the chief's door. He's not the chief, though. Sam hurries over and when he gets to him, he's proud of himself for not saluting, for simply standing squared and ready.
> 
> "You Hodiak?" He's got to be near fifty, grizzled with time and wear.
> 
> "Yes, sir," Sam replies.
> 
> "Chief says you're comin' with me. First day on the beat?"
> 
> "Yes, sir," Sam says again.
> 
> "Don't call me 'sir', son. Call me Talbert," he says this as he taps the name sewn into his shirt. Officer R. Talbert.
> 
> "Right, si—Talbert."
> 
> "And you'll call me 'chief'," Chief Ewell O'Neill comes out of his office and addresses only Talbert. Sam hasn't earned his place yet. "Talbert, you're taking Hodiak down Southend today. Been getting a lot of calls, just go keep the peace."
> 
> "They're acting up again?" Talbert asks, "Niggers always have a problem with something. We're not here to flatfoot around on their bull."
> 
> "Just go make your presence known, that'll keep them quiet," Chief O'Neill says. The chief glances at Sam, "Keep your head on your shoulders out there, Hodiak."
> 
> On their way to a neighborhood the guys in the precinct call "Negroville", Talbert hasn't stopped talking. It's not that bad, Sam decides. It gives him time to study the streets as they drive.
> 
> "You serve in the war, son?" Talbert asks him. The way Talbert eyes him, glancing between him and the road, tells Sam there is a certain answer he wants and if he doesn't get it, he'll be upset.
> 
> "I did, sir. I was in the Army, in—"
> 
> "Good for you, son, good for you. You're a hero, kid, don't you forget it. I was too old to go myself but let me tell you, there was nothing I wanted more than to be over there. Kill another Kraut—killed my fair share the first time we went to tumble with those bastards. Was proud to do so, would do it again. You fight the Germans or the Japs?"
> 
> "I was stationed in Japan."
> 
> "Good for you, good for you,. Ya' know, say what you want about the Germans but they're not bad people all-in-all. Workers, they are. The gooks, well…" Talbert started to laugh as he turned the car down a narrow street, "Let's just say, ain't nobody hurt by one less gook in the world. We showed them, huh? Fat Man and Little Boy did a fine job of that."
> 
> Sam forces himself to smile. Hundreds of thousands of people. Gone in an instant. Vaporized. Like dust. The ones who lingered, the ones who held on… they were the unlucky ones. In the silence, Sam winces as he remembers the bayonet that tore through him. He remembers the pain, feeling his insides ripped out—he was sure, lying on the swampy land, that he would look down and see his innards hanging out. As he remembers, his fingers tighten on the knee of his pants, gripping the fabric in a small clutch. His mouth is dry and he wets his lips. Then he remembers the feeling of victory when he got that Jap back. He lets those memories wash over him and replace the phantom pains. His fingers loosen and the tension of his back eases. Victory. That's what fills him now. It gives him enough courage to respond,
> 
> "Nips."
> 
> "What?" Talbert asks.
> 
> "The Japs aren't gooks," Sam clarifies, "They're nips. The Southeast Asians are the gooks. The Chinese, they're the chinks and the Japanese—"
> 
> "Are the nips," Talbert catches on, laughing. He fixes his had with one hand, "That's good, Hodiak. That's real good. I like that. We got plenty of 'em here in California. Japs, I mean. Not too many in L.A. They're all in San Fran, it seems. Good riddance. Here in LA, we gotta' 'nother type of beast to wrangle."
> 
> Sam relaxes against the seat of the squad car, feeling accomplished. He removes his cap and rests it in his lap, running his fingers through his hair. Before long, Talbert's ribbing him about the length and Sam's joking back. He's wondering how serious Talbert is, though and if he really should cut it like he considered earlier.
> 
> Sam sees similar scenes on the streets they drive. There is a lovely white woman walking with her child along the sidewalk. She smiles at people she passes. They're headed to the corner market, no doubt, to pick up the groceries she needs for dinner. Further down the road, there's a young man working on his car. An equally young girl is watching him and she claps every time he accomplishes something else on the automobile. When they pass the market, the grocer is sweeping the steps and he waves to the officers as they drive by. They wave back.
> 
> They turn a corner and Sam notices there's not much to see. The street acts like a barrier and the next time they see a person, it's a black man who ducks into an alley as they draw near. Sam watches the way Talbert eyes the man but keeps driving. The sidewalks are cracked here and damaged beyond repair in places so the people walk along the street instead. A black boy and girl are playing, kicking an empty soup can between them. They're so young and Sam's wondering why they're alone. The boy kicks the can so hard it rolls away from the girl and into a gutter, which is so clogged with trash that it's easy for them to get. No one on the street will make eye contact with the officers.
> 
> Sam senses they aren't here to protect these people, just to remind them to behave.
> 
> Talbert's fingers drum the steering wheel. He's itching for something to go down. They're quiet as they drive.
> 
> "Stop! Stop!"
> 
> There's a middle aged black woman coming at them now. She's run out of a grubby apartment building on the corner. She's dressed in a nightgown that covers her arms and there's slippers on her feet. Her frizzy hair is covered in a bandana and she's screaming, "He's gonna' kill her! Stop! Please, stop!"
> 
> "What now? Always something…" Talbert grinds his teeth. He doesn't even slow down the car until the woman throws herself in front of it, banging on the hood. There's a boy behind her, about 14 or 15, who's followed her out of the building.
> 
> "Goddammit!" Talbert yells and stops the car, pulling the key out with a yank of frustration. Talbert gets out and Sam follows. The woman is frantic.
> 
> "Get your hands off the car!" Talbert's shouting over her.
> 
> "He's gonna' kill her! He's upstairs, he's upstairs!"
> 
> "Enough! Enough!" Tablert commands. Sam can see he's put his hand on his nightstick and, taking his cue, Sam does the same, "You get a hold of yourself right now, you hear me?"  
>    
>  "You have to go upstairs! He's gonna' kill her!"
> 
> Sam can see she's terrified. There's panic on her features but it doesn't seem to make Talbert sympathetic. Talbert's fingers are twsiting around the handle of his baton and his jaw is tensing as the woman carries on.
> 
> "Stop shouting at me," he growls.
> 
> "YOU HAVE TO GO! GO UPSTAIRS! THERE AIN'T TIME!"
> 
> The woman bangs her hands on the hood of the car one more time.
> 
> Talbert grabs the woman's wrist and in an easy move, she's face down, yelping. Sam's still as it happens but the sudden movement startles him and he winces as Talbert forces her against the car harder.
> 
> "Get offa' my ma!" the young boy says, stepping foward with his thin chest out. It's pure instinct that makes Sam step foward too.
> 
> "You keep your mouth shut," Talbert says to him, and then to the woman, "Now, are you going to behave yourself? Are you going to stop?"
> 
> "Get off her!" the boy raises his voice as his mother flails. She's still talking about upstairs, upstairs, upstairs—and she wants them to go. He's upstairs. It's like only Sam can hear her. Talbert isn't listening and Sam is caught between instinct and duty. He's just a rookie, after all. With a swift move, Talbert manages to get his stick out of his belt with one hand, the other still holding down the woman.
> 
> Sam does the same but he feels uneasy it about it. His palms are sweaty. Talbert points the stick at the boy as he manhandles the mother.
> 
> "Are you going to start somethin'?" Talbert's asking the boy, "Are you going to start somethin'? Keep your goddamn mouth shut!"
> 
> "Why you fightin' us!? We didn't do nothin'! There'sa' girl upstairs gettin' beat! Go help her! Go help her!" the boy is getting just as upset watching his mother's treatment and Sam rolls the stick in his hands, chewing his bottom lip.
> 
> Talbert's ignoring the boy and he's shouting in the mother's ear, "Are you going to behave!?"
> 
> She calms, angry tears on her cheeks, and Talbert lifts her and throws her away from the car where she stumbles and falls into the street. There's a small crowd building and they're just as angry but they know better, they know better than to say anything. The boy goes to his mother.
> 
> "Now when you niggers learn to talk like civilized folk," Talbert's voice booms out, "Then maybe you'll get a little help with your problems."
> 
> Some of the people watching come forward to help the boy's mother. The boy lingers behind and Sam can see he's filled with such rage. He can see he wants to fight, he wants to defend his mother's humiliation.
> 
> "You dirty, white thug," the boy says quietly but he spits at Talbert. In a moment, Talbert's at the kid and his baton is coming down on his left arm with a punishing crack. The crowd begins to stir. The boy's screaming and his mother is screaming, trying to get at him. A few people hold her back. They know she'll just get the baton too.
> 
> It's not the first hit that makes Sam's stomach turn, it's the second one. The boy's already on the ground but Talbert takes another swing for good measure.
> 
> "Not so tough," he says to the boy, who's crying in agony now. Sam swallows hard. This is just a kid. Talbert's over him, baton braced ready to swing again, "You learn your lesson or do you need another?"
> 
> "No," the boy whispers, cradling his broken arm.
> 
> "I can't hear you. Do you need another lesson?"
> 
> "No, sir, don't," the boy lifts his good arm, as if trying to block an invisible blow.
> 
> "I didn't fight in France just to have some little nigger boy spit in my face," he puts one foot down on the kid's chest. Talbert points his baton at Sam, "You see him? That's an American hero. That man fought for this country, killin' Japs just for you, you ungrateful little shit. You show some respect or you'll get it again. Where were you while he was in the mud and the shit? Where were you, you little bastard?"
> 
> Sam knows where this kid was. He was kicking cans on a street corner. Just a little boy.
> 
> The way he looks at Sam, the tears running down his face… there's just as much hate there as there is for Talbert. Sam understands. The color of his skin, the color of his uniform, it makes him nothing but another Talbert.
> 
> "Now, you be a good boy and you apologize for the foul thing you said," Talbert demands. The boy hesitates so Talbert presses down harder with his boot. The boy's mother is still screaming at them and sobbing and the crowd is buzzing.
> 
> Through the pain and his gritted teeth, the boy says, "I'm… sorry…"
> 
> "I'm sorry, what?"
> 
> "I'm sorry, sir."
> 
> "That's good," Talbert steps off him and casually slips the nightstick back into his belt.
> 
> When Talbert steps away, the folks holding the boy's mother release her and she runs to her son and cradles him, crying. Talbert, still on a high, addresses the crowd, "Now, you all go on. Go on, there's nothin' for you all to be starin' at."
> 
> He walks over to Sam and pats him on the shoulder, "Remember somethin', son, can't let these people push you around, 'cause believe me, they will. They'll try to get one up on you. You always gotta' be in control of the situation."
> 
> Sam nods. It's all he can think to do.
> 
> Talbert's heading back to the car when Sam finally speaks, "Should we check upstairs? For the girl?"
> 
> Talbert clicks his tongue, scratches his chin and fixes his hat before he speaks, "I suppose so. Alright, Hodiak, let's go check it out."
> 
> When they're up there, a woman points out which door they're supposed to go through. It's wide open and the small apartment inside has been completely destroyed in the signs of a fight.
> 
> The girl, the young woman, is already dead. She's been beaten beyond recognition. One of the neighbors says it was her husband. It's not the first time he's done this but it will certainly be her last. They also say that the woman stopped calling the cops a long time ago—they never come. Talbert tells the neighbor to get lost.
> 
> Sam stares down at the body. She's in a floral print dress that's been torn from her shoulders, revealing the plain fabric of her bra. Sam has the urge to reach down and cover her up, to brush the bloody matt her hair away from her swollen face, but just stands there.
> 
> Talbert glances at her, "Well, damn. Guess I'll have to all it in. Get someone to come pick her up."
> 
> "Do you want me to patrol the area?" Sam asks, relieved to not have to look at the girl on the floor anymore, "The fella couldn't have gotten far and we're bound to notice him. His knuckles must be in pretty bad shape, might even be covered in her blood."
> 
> "Nah," Talbert replies, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "You know how fast a negro can run? Just like that one, uh, what was his name? George Owens?"
> 
> "Jesse Owens," Sam says and the air rushes out of him. He looks down at the girl again. He thinks, just maybe, if they hadn't been outside, if they'd come up earlier, just maybe…
> 
> "Jesse Owen, that's it. Yeah, those SOBs run fast. I ain't gonna' waste time lookin' for him. He's gone. I'll call it in. I think I left the radio in the car."
> 
> Sam thinks, maybe, they could have saved her.
> 
> "Come on, son," Talbert says and he's already headed out the door, "We got work to do. Someone's gotta' keep the peace, right?"
> 
> On the way down the stairs, Talbert's talking about sports teams and upcoming games. When they're on the streets, the boy and his other are gone. Talbert remarks that he's glad no one was dumb enough to try to mess with their car. He calls them "hoodlums".
> 
> "You married, Hodiak?"
> 
> "Uh, no," Sam shakes his head as he gets into the passenger's seat and buckles himself in, "I got a girl but we're not married."
> 
> "Better do it quick, son. Good for a man to get a wife, good for a cop to have a family, if you know what I mean."
> 
> Sam did know what he meant. Married cops moved up faster. They had a family to support, didn't they? Maybe he'd marry Opal. Soon.
> 
> Talbert's calling in the dead girl on a big clunky radio that reminds Sam of his time in Japan. They wait int the car until the coroner comes. When she's bagged up and gone, they drive the streets of Southend some more.
> 
> He's realizing now that a war is coming. Another war. Maybe not today or tomorrow but one day, the spark will hit the slowly building powder keg and then there will be Hell. Black on white on fire. And who will the white folks have to blame then?
> 
> Sam can never be their friend, they'll never trust him. He's a white man and that's all he'll ever be. But he'll come back to this neighborhood, he'll come back to these people and he'll protect them like an officer should. Not because they are black but because that's his job. There is a truth to what Talbert told him. He always has to remain in control.
> 
> Sam sucks in a deep breath. They'd won the last war with two atomic bombs…. what will it take to win this one?

**Author's Note:**

> I was recently asked on tumblr if I'd consider expanding this story into a full crime investigation done by Sam to find the culprit who murdered the girl in the apartment. I'm more than happy to oblige so there should be more of this in the future. Comments are my lifeblood and I'd love to know what people think.


End file.
